


Inquisitional Nature.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels), valuna



Series: Born To The Life [2]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-04
Updated: 2003-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:48:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valuna/pseuds/valuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The time is 1709. It is mid-winter, a particularly bitter winter in Britain, and the vampires are living in a castle hanging over the edge of the North Sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inquisitional Nature.

**Author's Note:**

> Historical note: The term Inquisition refers to several periods in history, as well as at least three separate entities. For our purposes, this is the infamous Spanish Inquisition, and the timeframe Sean and Peter refer to in their dialogue is around 1490, when the Inquisitor General was Torquemada.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a story about vampires. Since we all know vampires don't really exist, then the characters can't be based on real people since those people can't be vampires in a world where such creatures don't exist. We personally don't know anything about these people's lives. Don't care to. In other words, it's fiction, folks, the product of overworked imaginations.

"Get over here." Sean shouted across the room, his voice echoing off the stone, only to be muffled by the tapestries. "I want you up against the wall."

"Why is it everyone wants me against the wall?" Peter moved slowly down the spiral stairs separating the study above from the bedroom below. "What's wrong with a bed? A nice, fluffy bed, with a down comforter and pillows piled behind your head."

"Why, Peter, you're beginning to sound like Stuart. Beds are highly overrated. Besides, the others tend to take a bed-shag as an invitation to join in. I want you all to myself."

"Then let's do it somewhere different." Eyebrows arched, smile widened. "The northern parapet. Storm's rolling in. It'll muffle the screams."

Sean snorted in derision. "When have our servants ever cared that you screamed?"

"It's not the servants I care about. It's the others." He tugged at Sean's leather surcoat. "All those you don't want to share me with. You know they'll come looking for us as soon as they hear."

"But if I have you against the wall, there's no room for them. Unless they want to fuck me. That's always welcome."

"And you don't think over the parapet will be just as much fun." Peter ran his hands over the leather. "Flesh against stone."

"The parapet is over there," Sean growled. "And I want to fuck you now."

"Very well. Fuck me now." Peter released his hold on Sean's clothes, stepped back and raised his arms in surrender. "But I expect to be fucked over the parapet later."

"I like you when you're demanding."

"I can be submissive. You want that?" Peter just as quickly dropped to his knees. "Want me to beg for you?" Peter dipped his head and kissed the hem of Sean's garment. "Like that night in the monastery. Inquisitors wanting to burn me alive. You saved me. After I'd begged."

The light caught against Peter's face, accenting the shadows of it, the planes and angles and his phenomenally sexy cheekbones. Peter looked very, very good on his knees. Always had. And he knew it. "Then beg," Sean said. "Beg the High Inquisitor for the mercy you know you can squeeze out of him."

Peter lowered himself even more, nearly prostrate against the cold stone floor. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned." He kissed the toe of Sean's boot. "Please, sir, accept my confession." He swiped his tongue over it. "Let me recant my transgressions."

Peter knew the power inherent in what he did. Sean had seen many people do this over the centuries, but nothing was like seeing his lover beg. "I know of your sins, heretic. Tell me why I should be merciful."

"Because I have been led astray. My wickedness is not of my own desire." Peter's voice took on a more medieval, richer tone. He continued his oral ministrations to Sean's leather-clad feet, kissing at the ankles, licking off the remnants of castle dust. "I can be good. With your guidance, sir, I can make amends to the Holy Father." The language, the words, both were intently similar to what had come from Peter's tongue centuries earlier, when he had been pleading in earnest for his life. "To you."

"You have wronged me, certainly," Sean allowed. "Your wrong to the Holy Father is harder to determine. What is your sin?" Sean nudged Peter's mouth with his foot.

"My sin," Peter started, adjusting his position, dropping his head against the floor, licking along the heel of Sean's boot, "is, I fear, me." He rubbed his face against the wornsoft leather. "It is my very nature that is abhorrent."

"You are a lover of men," Sean said coldly. "It is not enough that you repent on it. You must also suffer."

"Yes, I am a sodomite." The word rolled off Peter's tongue, ending with a harsh click. "But that is not all. Would the High Inquisitor have me recant my birthright, too?"

"Yes." Sean's voice had become clipped, angry, very much the way it had been all those years ago when he had first seen Peter begging before a member of the Inquisition. "All that is against the Church must be struck from your very flesh. Only then shall you be clean, penitent."

"And if I am penitent, will the High Inquisitor pardon me?" Peter raised his head just enough to look up the length of Sean's body. "Will he find favor with me?" It had been those words that had driven Sean to madness in a monastery. Peter had explained later, when they were safe and drenched in the blood of power-insane priests, that he'd done it for them both, but at the time all Sean could see was Peter willingly giving himself over to the Inquisitors.

"Are you doing this just to get laid, heretic?" Peter knew Sean couldn't help it. Those weren't exactly the words he'd used years earlier, but the sentiment was the same. Peter had been insane for doing what he'd done and for making Sean worry.

"No, sir. I wouldn't expect the High Inquisitor to demean himself in such a way." Peter paused. "I'm hungry, sir." He pushed himself off the floor, kneeled up, head tilted back just a bit, eyes fixed on Sean's. "I will gladly take whatever you choose to give a humble penitent."

"Are you asking for blood or semen?" Sean said softly. "Heretic."

"It is not my place to ask for one or the other," Peter said, voice quiet but strong. "I am at your mercy, Father. It is for _you_ to mete out my punishment and reward."

"You have not yet finished confessing, heretic."

"How would you have me make my confession?"

"As you were before, genuflecting before God. Pray to Him for strength to overcome your great weakness and tell me of your sins, child. God will forgive once you are adequately punished."

Peter returned to his hands and knees, back arched, head nearly on the floor. He started slightly higher than where he left off, right at the cuff of Sean's boot, kissing the stiff leather of the boot and the worn leather of the breeches tucked into it. "Father, forgive me, for I have sinned," he began the familiar litany. "It has been," he paused, licks across the smooth fabric, "forever since my last confession. I have violated all the cardinal sins. Repeatedly." His hands slid up Sean's calves, settling just below the back of the knee. "Where should I start? Gluttony? Lust, perhaps?"

"Begin at the beginning."

"I have used others for my own pleasure." Lick. Kiss. "Made their bodies slaves to my own desires." He pressed his fingers against fabric-covered flesh. "Even my own brothers in arms. Bent them over tables and rammed my cock up their arses."

A real Inquisitor would have blanched at such vulgarity. Sean just took it in stride. "Sodomy," he listed coldly. "Lust. Fornication. Abuse. Pride."

"I've feasted on the blood of innocents. Gorged myself, greedy for the taste. Bathed myself in it. Fed it to my lover off the tips of my fingers. Drop by drop."

Sean moaned at the words. There were strong memories associated with them, images of Peter doing exactly that. "Murder," he said, struggling to get his voice under control. "Gluttony. Avarice."

"And I've done it all without the least concern for what God thought." Peter raised his head, parting Sean's surcoat, and licked along the Sean's inner thigh, tongue pressing against tight leather. "I believe that's called blasphemy."

"And arrogance. Please, continue."

Licks turned to nibbles. Sharp canines could have ripped the leather, shredded it until Peter had access to Sean's flesh. But he didn't. "Oh, yes. There's yesterday." Peter slid his hands up Sean's legs, settled them in the crease between thigh and ass. "It is fascinating what the young will do when they think it pleases us. I must agree with Marton, though. Gerard's blood is so sweet."

"Corrupting children. Incest," since Sean had taken part in it as well. "Care to elaborate?"

"Gerard does not share our penchant for each other's company. He is more partial to the lasses at the pub." Peter moved his hands up over Sean's ass, around to the front of his body and down to the laces of the black breeches. Not waiting for permission, he began working at them. "But he will spread his legs so beautifully for his uncles. I did just this." Peter rubbed the palm of his hand down over Sean's groin. "And he wanted more."

"I can see why." Sean licked his lips quickly. "Did you give it to him?"

"Of course. I never leave a lover unsatisfied." Peter made quick work of the laces and separated the fabric. He pressed his tongue against the flesh shadowed in the vee crisscrossed by loosened ribbons. "Unless he specifically requests it."

"I can't see why any would. Confess to the Lord what you did to my - what you did to the child."

"I ran my tongue along the length of his cock." Peter pushed the breeches' waistband down just a fraction, enough to free Sean's erection. He slipped his hand under it, lifted slightly and applied his tongue to its base, licking against the short golden curls before drawing it up to the tip. "Much like that."

"And did he like it?"

"He writhed against his restraints. Begged me to do it again." Peter swirled his tongue over the cockhead, pushing gently at the foreskin. "I did. Over and over. Small licks, then longer ones, not letting him get a sense of what was next."

"So you tied him up. Bondage, heretic, is one of the sins punishable by death."

"Then kill me. Flog me till I can't stand up. Drain the blood from my body." His mouth hovered over Sean's cock, tongue teasing at the slit. "I'd willingly die for you, for my sins."

"Oh, I don't think I'll kill you. You're much more amusing, not to mention delightfully distraction, while you're still alive."

"Then the High Inquisitor has found favor with me. I am pardoned?"

"No."

Peter slid his mouth over Sean's cock, taking it deep, letting it trigger what little gag reflex still exists. He closed his lips against the flesh, hollows his cheeks and sucks.

"To be- to be pardoned, you must beg God to help you see the light. You must admit that what you did was wrong and that you will never do it again. With God's help you can overcome these violent and destructive - ahhh - urges."

Peter pulled off. "I admit my wrongdoing." He sucked in the cock again, pushing tongue along the underside and back. "I want God's help to be better." He deepthroated Sean. Wrapping his hands onto Sean's hips, he wadded his fingers in the cotton shirt.

"Don't think," Sean swallowed audibly hard. "Don't think you can _be_ better."

The time for words had ended, and Peter became intent on sucking, mixing short thrusts with long, drawn-out pulls, humming some unintelligible response along the length of hardened cock, gnawing fingers through fabric into flesh.

"Teeth," Sean whispered harshly. "Teeth, Peter, goddamnit!"

Peter's canines raked against Sean's cock, drawing two distinct rivulets of blood as they pull back. The blunt smell of copper invaded the air around them, quickly being overlaid by a salty essence.

Sean collapsed against the wall, eyes shut so hard he was probably picking out constellations. "Damn it, Peter..."

Peter kneeled back. "Was that enough of a confession?" he asked, swiping his tongue out over his lips to retrieve residue.

"You've made me find God, if that's what you're asking." Sean opened his eyes slowly and focused on Peter. "On your feet, heretic!"

"I suppose that's a good thing." Peter rose slowly.

Sean pushed himself off the wall enough to grab Peter, spin him around and force them to change places. "Ready for judgment, heretic?" Sean grinned and kissed Peter passionately.

Any response Peter had was muted by the kiss, to which he gives in wholeheartedly, letting Sean take full control of the moment.

Sean's hands snaked around Peter, holding him close. When they finally broke, Sean's smile was mischievous. "Now, heretic, just to show how penitent you really are, I want you to get onto the bed and do your best to make yourself go blind."

"My penance for being a sodomite _and_ a vampire is to masturbate for you?" Peter's smile was slightly less broad than Sean's. "Isn't that just another sin?"

"Iniquity is relative. Especially when you're fucking _my_ relatives." Sean paused. "You haven't been fucking my brother, have you?"

"Which brother?" Peter started stripping. "You have to be more specific, Sean?"

"John's the closest one, unless they've been moving around without telling me."

"No, haven't fucked any of your relatives, mortal or otherwise. Well, except for your sons. But they're fair game."

"So they are," Sean agreed. "I haven't heard from Patrick lately. Is he still secluded in the South Tower?"

" I do believe he's waiting on hell to freeze over." Shirt off. Breeches nearly undone. "Or the banshees to wail. Or something equally ridiculous." Peter paused. "Like this punishment."

"I object. Watching you get yourself off is one of the most serene pleasures known to our kind. Plus, you look sexy as hell while you do it."

"One of the most serene pleasures? Where the fuck did you pull that one from, Sean?" Peter sat down and pulled off his boots, taking the breeches down with them and tossed it all aside. "Sure you don't want to help?" he asked as he stood up. "I'd much rather be fucked. I could wait on Marton. Or get one of those sons of yours."

"Out of my ass, as you well know. Shut up, that's what their most high idiot priests talked like, and you know it." Sean seemed to get lost in the moment, studying Peter's body. "Marton's busy being accosted by Daragh in the stables. My sons have turned on each other. And I'm insulted - highly insulted - that you would prefer their company to mine."

Peter jumped on the bed with all the grace afforded a former knight templar and stretched out, up into the pillows, wallowing against the oversized duvet. "And I wasn't planning on making you leave. Just bring one, or two, of them in to play. Since you passed on my parapet idea."

Peter never had been an exhibitionist. Not unless it involved killing someone. Then he was all about showing off, brandishing Toledo steel, wrist carrying through an intricate whip of the blade. If he thought about it, masturbation wasn't that different. Flick of the wrist. Follow-through stroke. Never let the sword leave your hand. So he stopped his conscious squirming and settled down to making Sean want him so badly it'll hurt for centuries. He spread his legs and ran his hands down his chest, over and inside his thighs, ending with them on either side of his cock, palms pressing against already hard flesh. He began to roll his cock between his hands, slowly at first, then speeding up, feeling the rush of arousal heightening, backing off when it seems too quick, slowing back down and wrapping the fingers of his left hand around its length, thumb at the underside where it can slide down and massage his tightening sac. He moved his hand with deliberate action, rolling the foreskin back and forth over the shaft. He didn't close his eyes, but watched Sean's reactions, waited for the cues that tell him how to proceed.

Sean was watching with rapt attention. It was something he'd seen more times than he could count, but Peter knew it never failed to make his blood stir. Sean wet his lips almost as an afterthought, never taking his eyes off Peter.

Peter drew his right hand back up his body, fingering his nipple, at first brushing lightly over it, ghosting with just the tips of his fingers, then with a brusqueness, tweaking and pebbling the numb into pained hardness. "Does this please the High Inquisitor? Seeing me use my body this way?" He repeated the action on the other nipple, slowly, almost methodically.

"It pleases him indeed." Sean whispered. "Touch them again."

Fingers retraced their path, pinching harder, even as Peter tightened the grip around his cock, stroking in long, exaggerated motions. He grimaced at the pain, but continued the touches, working thumb and forefinger into a quickening rhythm.

Sean finally moved and sat down on the side of the bed. He placed his hand palm down on Peter's stomach, could feel Peter trembling under him.

Peter instinctively pushed up into Sean's touch. "Would the Inquisitor like to do more than touch?" His voice halted, slow words between deep breaths. "To truly test this penitent's sincerity."

"The Inquisitor would like to know why," Sean said softly. It had been a point of contention between him and Peter until they had mutually decided to forget about it. But they both knew Sean still burned with anger every time he thought about what Peter had put him through.

"The question is too broad, sir. You will have to be more specific as to when and where you wish to know the why?"

"I want to know why you gave yourself into their hands." Sean's fingers were splayed and he began to dig them in, nails turning into claws. "Why you made me worry."

New pain, even more welcomed than stroking and touching, gnawed at Peter's skin. Momentarily, he was distracted from the task at hand, letting his fingers slide off his nipples, grasp unclutch from his cock. Just for a second. He blinked, concentrated, renewed the motions, incorporating the new pain. "They were coming after you." There was a slight hitch in his voice as the claws extended fully into his stomach. "And the others. Couldn't let that happen."

"You scared me, fang. They could have killed you."

"If it kept you from harm, I'd have gone willingly into their fires. When we first rode together, I told you I'd willingly die for you. I've never changed my mind." Breath, unnecessary, but ragged. "Sean, please, touch me. The heretic needs the blessing of his Inquisitor."

Sean nodded and slid his hand down to cup Peter's balls. "The heretic should suffer for making his brothers worry."

"Fuck it, Sean. I suffered." Peter arched into the touch, working his hand more quickly up and down his cock. "You wouldn't let me touch you for days. Marton didn't let me come for a week. And we won't even discuss what Daragh did." The strokes grew more feverish, his fingers squeezing his nipples. "Trust me, my brothers more than let me know their feelings."

Sean's sharp nails caressed Peter's balls. "You need a beating, I think. Daragh's discipline was too long ago. I think you might have forgotten it."

"Beat me. Flail me to within an inch of life. Hang me from the bleedin' ceiling. Just for god's sake, let me come. Now."

"Trust me, I do intend to hurt you. You need to learn that you're not expendable, Peter." Sean's grip flexed then loosened. "Come."

Peter released, semen spilling over his hand and Sean's, hand falling from his chest, clutching at the duvet. "God, yes. I recant everything, all my sins and transgressions." He closed his eyes, forcing small breaths out as the wave crested, then ebbed.

"You are forgiven." Sean pressed a kiss to Peter's forehead. "Never, ever, do it again."

Spent, exhausted and sweaty, Peter collapsed back into the pillows and soft blankets. "Until you want to play High Inquisitor again," he says a touch breathlessly, words coming haltingly, as he tries to smile. "You really want Daragh to flog me?"

"Nah. Do it myself. I'll have him hold you. Maybe slap you a couple times."

"Good. You may not think so, but I do remember his discipline. Every last stroke of it." Small laugh. "He enjoys it more than most."

"He always enjoys it. He's done me a couple times." It had been a long, boring winter and Sean had needed something to warm him up. "He's quite good at what he does."

Peter sighed. "They should be home soon." His breathing slowed to its normal nonexistent level. "The three of them. Finished with the gameskeeper."

"How about we get into bed, get comfortable and wait for them to come up and tell us how it went?" Sean curled up next to Peter, laying his head on Peter's shoulder. One hand stroked the inside of Peter's thigh. "I'll beat you tomorrow."

Peter was nearly asleep before Sean finished talking. "Sounds good," he muttered. "Tomorrow. Beating."


End file.
